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UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

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School  of    Library 
Science 


UNIVERSITY  OF  N.C.  AT  CHAPEL  HILL 


00041415780 


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BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

The  Prince  Chap 
The  Mallet's  Masterpiece 
Semiramis 
The  Spitfire 
A  Broken  Rosary 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/littlestrebelOOpepl 


IN  THE   CABIN'S  DOORWAY  STOOD  VIRGIE  AND 
HER  FATHER  HAND  IN  HAND. 


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Copyright,  1910, 1911,  by 
EDWARD  PEPLE 

All  Bights  Reserved 

Published  August,  1911 


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Bebuateb 

TO 

THE   MEMORY   OF 

GENERAL  ROBERT  E.  LEE 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

IN  THE   CABIN'S   DOORWAY    STOOD 

VIRGIE  AND  HER  FATHER      Frontispiece 


¥ 


'OH,  DADDY,  WHERE  IS  IT?"    .      . 


20 


"MIGHT   I   INQUIRE  WHAT  YOU  ARE 

CALLED?" 34 

THE  NORTHERNER  STOOD  UNMOVED      56 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

I 

It  was  in  the  "  war-time,"  the  darkest, 
bitterest  period  of  it  all ;  when  the  weak- 
ened South  was  slowly  breaking  with  the 
weight  of  her  brother-foes;  when  the  ar- 
mies battled  on  Virginia  soil — battled 
and  passed  to  their  final  muster-roll. 

Twenty  miles  south  of  Richmond,  on 
the  river  banks,  lay  an  old  plantation,  its 
fences  down,  its  fields  neglected  and  over- 
grown with  briers  and  choking  weeds.  In 
its  center,  on  a  hill,  sat  the  blackened 
ruins  of  a  once  stately  Colonial  mansion, 
the  chimney  still  standing,  like  some 
lonely  sentinel  who  mourned  for  the 
peace  and  plenty  of  the  past 

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THE  LITTLEST  KEBEL 


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in  the  negro  quarters  had  long  since  dis- 
appeared, their  timbers  consumed  by  the 
campfires  of  a  passing  Union  host;  yet, 
away  to  the  left,  at  the  bend  of  a  weed- 
grown  carriage  road,  one  building  was 
left  unburned. 

In  the  old  days  it  had  been  the  cabin 
of  an  overseer.  It  had  but  two  rooms, 
and  a  shallow  attic,  which  was  gained  by 
means  of  an  iron  ladder  reaching  to  a 
closely  fitting  scuttle  in  the  ceiling.  The 
larger  room  was  furnished  meagerly  with 
a  rough  deal  table,  several  common 
chairs,  and  a  double-doored  cupboard 
against  the  wall.  In  the  deep,  wide  fire- 
place glowed  a  heap  of  raked-up  embers, 
on  which,  suspended  from  an  iron  crane, 
a  kettle  simmered,  sadly,  as  if  in  grief 
for  her  long-lost  brother  pots  and  pans. 
iThe  plaster  on  the  walls  had  broken 
jaway  in  patches,  especially  above  the 
door,  where  the  sunlight  streamed 
[2] 


through  the  gaping  wound  from  a  can- 
non shot.  The  door  and  window  shutters 
were  of  heavy  oak,  swinging  inward  and 
fastening  with  bars;  yet  now  they  were 
open,  and  through  them  could  be  seen  a 
dreary  stretch  of  river  bottom,  withering 
beneath  the  rays  of  a  July  sun. 

Beyond  a  distant  fringe  of  trees  the 
muddy  James  went  murmuring  down  its 
muddy  banks,  where  the  blue  cranes 
waited  solemnly  for  the  ebbing  tide; 
where  the  crows  cawed  hoarsely  in  their 
busy,  reeling  flight,  and  the  buzzards 
swung  high  above  the  marshes.  Yet  even 
in  this  waste  of  listless  desolation  came 
the  echoed  boom  of  heavy  guns  far 
down  the  river,  where  the  "  Rebs  "  and 
"  Yanks "  were  pounding  one  another 
lazily. 

From    the   woods   which    skirted    the* 
carriage  road  a  man  appeared — a  thin, 
worn  man,  in  a  uniform  of  stained  and 
[3] 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


tattered  gray — a  man  who  peered  from 
right  to  left,  as  a  hunted  rabbit  might, 
then  darted  across  the  road  and  plunged 
into  the  briery  underbrush.  Noiselessly 
he  made  his  way  to  the  now  deserted 
cabin,  creeping,  crawling  till  he  reached 
a  point  below  an  open  window,  then 
slowly  raised  himself  and  looked  within. 

"  Virgie !  "  he  whispered  cautiously. 
"Virgie!" 

No  answer  came.  For  a  moment  the 
man  leaned  dizzily  against  the  window- 
sill,  his  eyes  fast  closed  with  a  nameless 
dread,  till  he  caught  his  grip  again  and 
entered  the  open  door. 

"  Virgie !  "  he  called,  in  a  louder  tone, 
moving  swiftly  but  unsteadily  toward  the 
adjoining  room.  He  flung  its  door  open 
iv  sharply,  almost  angrily;  yet  the  name 


on  his  lips  was  tender,  trembling,  as  he 
called:  "Virgie!    Virgie!" 


In  the  loneliness  of  dread,  he  once  more 


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. 


1 


1 


leaned  for  support  against  the  wall,  won- 
dering, listening  to  the  pounding  of  his 
heart,  to  the  murmur  of  the  muddy 
James,  and  the  fall  of  a  flake  of  plaster 
loosened  by  the  dull  reverberation  of  a 
distant  gun;  then  suddenly  his  eye  was 
caught  by  the  kettle  simmering  on  the 
fire,  and  he  sighed  in  swift  relief. 

He  wiped  his  brow  with  a  ragged  sleeve 
and  went  to  where  a  water-bucket  stood 
behind  the  door,  knelt  beside  it,  drinking 
deeply,  gratefully,  yet  listening  the  while 
for  unwonted  sounds  and  watching  the 
bend  of  the  carriage  road.  His  thirst  ap- 
peased, he  hunted  vainly  through  the  ta- 
ble drawer  for  balls  and  powder  for  the 
empty  pistol  at  his  hip;  then,  instinct- 
ively alert  to  some  rustling  sound  out- 
side, he  crouched  toward  the  adjoining 
oom,  slipped  in,  and  softly  closed  the* 

Wat.  ^= 


door. 
From 


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sunlit   world 
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I 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


cabin  walls  rose  the  murmur  of  a  child- 
ish song,  and  Virgie  came  pattering  in. 
She  was  a  tiny  thing,  a  tot  of  seven,  in 
a  calico  bonnet,  and  a  gingham  dress 
which  scarcely  reached  to  her  little  bare, 
brown  knees.  Her  face  was  delicate,  re- 
fined, but  pale  and  thin,  causing  her  big 
dark  eyes  to  seem  bigger  still  beneath 
her  tumbled  hair.  In  one  hand  she  car- 
ried a  small  tin  bucket  filled  with  ber- 
ries ;  in  the  other  she  clutched  a  doll  and 
held  it  lovingly  against  her  breast. 

This  doll  was  more  than  an  ordinary 
doll;  she  was  a  personage — though 
strangely,  wonderfully  made.  To  the  in- 
timate view  of  the  unimaginative,  the 
babe  was  formed  from  the  limb  of  a  ce- 
dar tree,  the  forking  branches  being  legs 
and  arms  by  courtesy,  her  costume  con 
sisting  of  a  piece  of  rag,  tied  at  the  wais 
with  a  bit  of  string,  and  bearing  some 
faint  resemblance  to  an  infant's  swad- 

[6] 


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dling  clothes;  yet,  to  the  little  mother, 
her  cedar-tree  child  was  a  living,  suffer- 
ing sharer  of  her  own  pathetic  fate. 

On  a  chair  at  the  table  Virgie  set  her 
doll,  then  laughed  at  the  hopelessness  of 
its  breakfasting  with  any  degree  of  com- 
fort, or  of  ease. 

"  Why,  Lord  amercy,  child,  your  chin 
don't  come  up  to  the  table." 

On  the  chair  she  placed  a  wooden  box, 
perching  the  doll  on  top  and  taking  a 
seat  herself  just  opposite.  She  emptied 
the  blackberries  into  a  mutilated  plate, 
brought  from  the  cupboard  a  handful  of 
toasted  acorns,  on  which  she  poured  boil- 
ing water,  then  set  the  concoction  aside 
to  steep. 

"  Now,  Miss  Susan  Jemima,"  said  Vir- 
gie, addressing  her  vis-a-vis  with  the  hos- 
pitable courtesy  due  to  so  great  a  lady,; 
"  we  are  goin'  to  have  some  breakfas'."; 
She  paused,  in  a  shade  of  doubt,  then 

£7] 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

smiled  a  faint  apology :  "  It  isn't  very 
much  of  a  breakfas',  darlin',  but  we'll 
make  believe  it's  waffles  an'  chicken  an' — 
an'  hot  rolls  an'  batter-bread  an' — an' 
everything."  She  rose  to  her  little  bare 
feet,  holding  her  wisp  of  a  skirt  aside,  and 
made  a  sweeping  bow.  "  Allow  me,  Miss 
Jemima,  to  make  you  a  mos'  delicious 
cup  of  coffee." 

And,  while  the  little  hostess  prepared 
the  meal,  a  man  looked  out  from  the 
partly  open  door  behind  her,  with  big 
dark  eyes,  which  were  like  her  own,  yet 
blurred  by  a  mist  of  pity  and  of  love. 

"  Susan,"  said  the  hostess  presently, 
"  it's  ready  now,  and  we'll  say  grace ;  so 
don't  you  talk  an'  annoy  your  mother." 

The  tiny  brown  head  was  bowed.  The 
tiny  brown  hands,  with  their  berry- 
stained  fingers,  were  placed  on  the  ta-< 
ble's  edge;  but  Miss  Susan  Jemima  sat 
bolt  upright,  though  listening,  it  seemed, 

[8] 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


to  the  words  of  reverence  falling  from  a 
mother-baby's  lips: 

"  Lord,  make  us  thankful  for  the 
blackberries  an'  the  aco'n  coffee  an' — an' 
all  our  blessin's;  but  please,  sir,  sen'  us 
somethin'  that  tastes  jus'  a  little  better — 
if  you  don't  mind.    Amen !  " 

And  the  man,  who  leaned  against  the 
door  and  watched,  had  also  bowed  his 
head.  A  pain  was  in  his  throat — and 
in  his  heart — a  pain  that  gripped  him, 
till  two  great  tears  rolled  down  his 
war-worn  cheek  and  were  lost  in  his 
straggling  beard. 

"Virgie!"  he  whispered  hoarsely. 
"Virgie!" 

She  started  at  the  sound  and  looked 
about  her,  wondering;  then,  as  the  name 
was  called  again,  she  slid  from  her  chair 
and  ran  forward  with  a  joyous  cry : 

"Why,  Daddy!     Is  it  you?    Is- 

She  stopped,  for  the  man  had  placed  a 

[9] 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


finger  on  his  lip  and  was  pointing  to  the 
door. 

"  Take  a  look  down  the  road,"  he  or- 
dered, in  a  guarded  voice ;  and,  when  she 
had  reached  a  point  commanding  the 
danger  zone,  he  asked,  "  See  anybody? — 
soldiers?  "  She  shook  her  head.  "  Hear 
anything?  " 

She  stood  for  a  moment  listening,  then 
ran  to  him,  and  sprang  into  his  waiting 
arms. 

"It's  all  right,  Daddy!  It's  all  right 
now ! " 

He  raised  her,  strained  her  to  his 
breast,  his  cheek  against  her  own. 

"  My  little  girl ! "  he  murmured  be- 
tween his  kisses.  "  My  little  rebel !  "  And 
as  she  snuggled  in  his  arms,  her  berry- 
stained  fingers  clasped  tightly  about  his 
neck,  he  asked  her  wistfully,  "  Did  you 
miss  me? —aw fal  much?  " 

"  Yes,"  she  nodded,  looking  into  his 
[10] 


1 


.; 


eyes.  "  Yes — in  the  night  time — when 
the  wind  was  talkin';  but,  after  while, 
when Why,  Daddy!"  He  had  stag- 
gered as  he  set  her  down,  sinking  into  a 
chair  and  closing  his  eyes  as  he  leaned 
on  the  table's  edge.  "  You  are  hurt ! " 
she  cried.     "  I — I  can  see  the  blood !  " 

The  wounded  Southerner  braced  him- 
self. 

"  No,  dear,  no,"  he  strove  to  reassure 
her.  "  It  isn't  anything ;  only  a  little 
scratch — from  a  Yank — that  tried  to  get 
me.  But  he  didn't,  though,"  the  soldier 
added  with  a  smile.     "  I'm  just — tired." 

The  child  regarded  him  in  wondering 
awe,  speaking  in  a  half-breathed  whis- 
per: 

"  Did  he — did  he  shoot  at  you?  " 

Her  father  nodded,  with  his  hand  on 
her  tumbled  hair. 

"  Yes,  honey,  I'm  afraid  he  did ;  but 
I'm  so  used  to  it  now  I  don't  mind  it  any 
[11] 


more.  Get  me  a  drink  of  water,  will 
you?  "  As  Virgie  obeyed  in  silence,  re- 
turning with  the  dripping  gourd,  the  man 
went  on :  "I  tried  to  get  here  yesterday ; 
but  I  couldn't.  They  chased  me  when 
I  came  before — and  now  they're  watch- 
ing." He  paused  to  sip  at  his  draught 
of  water,  glancing  toward  the  carriage 
road.  "  Big  fight  down  the  river.  Lis- 
ten!   Can  you  hear  the  guns?" 

"  Yes,  plain,"  she  answered,  tilting  her 
tiny  head.  "  An'  las'  night,  when  I  went 
to  bed,  I  could  hear  'em — oh!  ever  so 
loud:  Boom!  Boom!  Boom-boom!  So 
I  knelt  up  an'  asked  the  Lord  not  to  let 
any  of  'em  hit  you." 

Two  arms,  in  their  tattered  gray, 
slipped  round  the  child.  He  kissed  her, 
in  that  strange,  fierce  passion  of  a  man 
who  has  lost  his  mate,  and  his  grief-torn 
love  is  magnified  in  the  mite  who  reflects 
her  image  and  her  memory. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"  Did  you,  honey?  "  he  asked,  with  a 
trembling  lip.  "Well,  I  reckon  that 
saved  your  daddy,  for  not  one  shell 
touched  him — no,  not  one!"  He  kissed 
her  again,  and  laughed,  "  And  I  tell  you, 
Virgie,  they  were  coming  as  thick  as 
bees." 

Once  more  he  sipped  at  the  grateful, 
cooling  draught  of  water,  when  the  child 
asked  suddenly: 

"How  is  Gen'ral  Lee?" 

Down  came  the  gourd  upon  the  table. 
The  Southerner  was  on  his  feet,  with  a 
stiffened  back;  and  his  dusty  slouch  hat 
was  in  his  hand. 

"He's  well;  God  bless  him!    Well!" 

The  tone  was  deep  and  tender,  proud, 
but  as  reverent  as  the  baby's  prayer  for 
her  father's  immunity  from  harm;  yet 
the  man  who  spoke  sank  back  into  his 
seat,  closing  his  eyes  and  repeating 
slowly,  sadly: 

[13] 


fp^fe 


£ 


"  He's  well ;  God  bless  him !  But  he's 
tired,  darling — mighty  tired." 

"  Daddy,"  the  soldier's  daughter  asked, 
"  will  you  tell  him  somethin' — from 
me?" 

"Yes,  dear.     What?" 

"Tell  him,"  said  the  child,  with  a 
thoughtful  glance  at  Miss  Susan  Jemima 
across  the  table,  "  tell  him,  if  he  ever 
marches  along  this  way,  I'll  come  over 
to  his  tent  and  rub  his  head,  like  I  do 
yours — if  he'll  let  me — till  he  goes  to 
sleep."  She  clasped  her  fingers  and 
looked  into  her  father's  eyes,  hope- 
fully, appealingly.  "  Do  you  think  he 
would,  if — if  I  washed  my  hands — real 
clean?" 

The  Southerner  bit  his  lip  and  tried 
to  smile. 

"  Yes,  honey,  I  know  he  would !  And 
think!    He  sent  a  message — to  you" 

"  Did     he? "     she     asked,     wide-eyed, 

[14] 


4 


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THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

flushed  with  happiness, 
say,  Daddy?     What?" 

"  He  said,"  her  father  answered,  tak- 
ing her  hands  in  his :  "  '  She's  a  brave  lit- 
tle soldier,  to  stay  there  all  alone.  Dixie 
and  I  are  proud  of  her ! '  " 

"Oh,  Daddy,  did  he?     Did  he?" 

"  Yes,  dear,  yes,"  the  soldier  nodded ; 
"  his  very  words.  And  look !  "  From 
his  boot  leg  he  took  a  folded  paper  and 
spread  it  on  his  knee.  "  He  wrote  you 
a  pass — to  Richmond.  Can  you  read 
it?" 

Virgie  leaned  against  her  father's 
shoulder,  studying  the  paper  long  and 
earnestly;  then,  presently  looked  up, 
with  a  note  of  grave  but  courteous  hesi- 
tation in  her  tone: 

"Well — he — well,  the  Gen'ral  writes 
a  awful  bad  hand,  Daddy." 

Her  father  laughed  in  genuine  delight, 
vowing  in  his  heart  to  tell  his  general 
[15] 


i 


and  friend  of  this  crushing  criticism,  if 
ever  the  fates  of  war  permitted  them  to 
meet  again. 

"  Dead  right !  "  he  agreed,  with  hearty 
promptness.  "  But  come,  I'll  read  it  for 
you.    Now  then.    Listen: 


« 


"  Headquarters  of  the  Army  of  Northern  Va. 

"  Pass  Virginia  Cary  and  escort  through  all  Con- 
federate lines  and  give  safe-conduct  wherever 
possible. 

"R.  E.  Lee,  General.1' 


There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then 
Virgie  looked  up,  with  tears  in  her  eyes 
and  voice. 

"  An'  he  did  that— for  little  met  Oh, 
Daddy,  I  love  him  so  much,  it — it  makes 
me  want  to  cry." 

She  hid  her  face  on  the  coat  of  gray, 
and  sobbed ;  while  her  father  stroked  her 
lhair  and  answered  soothingly,  but  in  a 
tone  of  mourning  reverie: 
[16] 


•J*r 


>- 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"  So  do  we  all,  darling ;  big  grown 
men,  who  have  suffered,  and  are  losing 
all  they  love.  They  are  ragged — and 
wounded — hungry — and,  oh,  so  tired! 
But,  when  they  think  of  Mm,  they  draw 
up  their  belts  another  hole,  and  say, 
'For  General  Lee!'  And  then  they  can 
fight  and  fight  and  fight — till  their  hearts 
stop  beating — and  the  god  of  battles 
writes  them  a  bloody  pass ! " 

Again  he  had  risen  to  his  feet.  He 
was  speaking  proudly,  in  the  reckless 
passion  of  the  yet  unconquered  South- 
erner, though  half-unconscious  of  the  tot 
who  watched  him,  wondering.  But  she 
came  to  him  now,  taking  his  hand  in  both 
her  own,  and  striving  to  bring  him  com- 
fort from  the  fountain  of  her  little 
mother-heart. 

'  Don't  you  worry,  Daddy-man.    We' 


t 


•. 


,1 


dropped  into  his  seat.  "  We  won't.  It's 
hard  enough  on  men;  but  harder  still  on 
children  such  as  you."  He  turned  to 
her  gravely,  earnestly :  u  Virgie,  I  had 
hoped  to  get  you  through  to  Richmond 
— to-day.  But  I  can't.  The  Yankees 
have  cut  us  off.  They  are  up  the  river 
and  down  the  river — and  all  around  us. 
I've  been  nearly  the  whole  night  getting 
here;  creeping  through  the  woods — like 
an  old  Molly-cotton-tail — with  the  blue 
boys  everywhere,  waiting  to  get  me  if  I 
showed  my  head." 

"  But  they  didn't,  did  they?  "  said  Vir- 
gie, laughing  at  his  reference  to  the  wise 
old  rabbit  and  feeling  for  the  pockets  of 
his  shabby  coat.  "  Did  you — did  you 
bring  me  anything?  " 

At  her  question  the  man  cried  out  as 
if  in  pain,  then  reached  for  her  in  a  wave- 
of  yearning  tenderness. 

"  Listen,  dear ;  I — I  had  a  little  bun- 

[18] 


Iff 


die  for  you — of — of  things  to  eat."  He 
took  her  by  the  arms,  and  looked  into 
her  quaint,  wise  face.  "  And  I  was  so 
glad  I  had  it,  darling,  for  you  are  thin- 
ner than  you  were."  He  paused  to 
bite  his  lip,  and  continued  haltingly, 
"  There  was  bread  in  that  bundle — 
and  meat — real  meat — and  sugar — and 
tea." 

Virgie  released  herself  and  clapped 
her  hands. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  where  is  it?"  she  asked 
him  happily,  once  more  reaching  for  the 
pocket.  "  'Cause  I'm  so  hungry  for 
somethin'  good." 

"  Don't !  Don't !  "  he  cried,  as  he  drew 
his  coat  away,  roughly,  fiercely,  in  the 
pain  of  unselfish  suffering.  "  For  God's 
sake,  don't ! " 

"  Why,  what  is  it,  Daddy,"  she  asked,< 
in  her  shrillness  of  a  child's  alarm,  her 
eyes  on  the  widening  stain  of  red  above 
[19] 


: 


\ 


:V;;i 


his  waist.    "  Is — is  it  hurtin'  you  again? 
What  is  it,  Daddy-man?  " 

"  Your  bundle,"  he  answered,  in  the 
flat,  dull  tone  of  utter  hopelessness.  "  I 
lost  it,  Virgie.    I  lost  it." 

"  Oh,"  she  said,  with  a  quaver  of  dis- 
appointment, which  she  vainly  strove  to 
hide.     "  How  did  you  do  it?  " 

For  a  moment  the  man  leaned  limply 
against  a  chair-back,  hiding  his  eyes  with 
one  trembling  hand;  then  he  spoke  in 
shamed  apology: 

"  I — I  couldn't  help  it,  darling ;  be- 
cause, you  see,  I  hadn't  any  powder  left ; 
and  I  was  coming  through  the  woods — 
just  as  I  told  you — when  the  Yanks  got 
sight  of  me."  He  smiled  down  at  her 
bravely,  striving  to  add  a  dash  of  com- 
edy to  his  tragic  plight.  "  And  I  tell  ^ 
you,  Virgie,  your  old  dad  had  to  run  like 
a  turkey — wishing  to  the  Lord  he  had 


i\ 


OH,    DADDY,    WHERE   IS  IT?     'CAUSE  I'M   SO 
HUNGRY   FOR   SOMETHIN'    GOOD." 


<b* 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


s» 


/■ 


Virgie  did  not  smile  in  turn,  and  her 
father  dropped  back  into  his  former  tone, 
his  pale  lips  setting  in  a  straight,  hard 
line. 

"And  then — the  blue  boy  I  was  tell- 
ing you  about — when  he  shot  at  me,  I 
must  have  stumbled,  because,  when  I 
scrambled  up,  I — I  couldn't  see  just 
right ;  so  I  ran  and  ran,  thinking  of  you, 
darling,  and  wanting  to  get  to  you  be- 
fore— well,  before  it  was  breakfast  time. 
I  had  your  bundle  in  my  pocket;  but 
when  I  fell — why,  Virgie,  don't  you  see? 
— I — I  couldn't  go  back  and  find  it."  He 
paused  to  choke,  then  spoke  between  his 
teeth,  in  fury  at  a  strength  which  had 
failed  to  breast  a  barrier  of  fate :  "  But 
I  would  have  gone  back,  if  I'd  had  any 
powder  left.  I  would!  By  God,  I 
would!"  '  i, 

A  pitiful  apology  it  was,  from  a  man 
to  a  little  child;  a  story  told  only  in  its 
[21] 

41 


i 


;• 


L 


hundredth  part,  for  why  should  he  give 
its  untold  horrors  to  a  baby's  ears?  How 
could  she  understand  that  man-hunt  in 
the  early  dawn?  The  fugitive — with  an 
empty  pistol  on  his  hip — wading  swamps 
and  plunging  through  the  tangled  under- 
brush; alert  and  listening,  darting  from 
tree  to  tree  where  the  woods  were  thin; 
crouching  behind  some  fallen  log  to  catch 
his  laboring  breath,  then  rising  again  to 
creep  along  his  way.  He  did  not  tell  of 
the  racking  pain  in  his  weary  legs,  nor 
the  protest  of  his  pounding  heart — the 
strain — the  agony — the  puffs  of  smoke 
that  floated  above  the  pines,  and  the  ping 
of  bullets  whining  through  the  trees.  He 
did  not  tell  of  the  ball  that  slid  along 
his  ribs,  leaving  a  fiery,  aching  memory 
behind,  as  the  man  crashed  down  a  clay 
bank,  to  lie  for  an  instant  in  a  crumpled 
heap,  to  rise  and  stumble  on — not  to- 
ward the  haven  of  his  own  Confederate 
[22] 


I 


Jft-, 


1 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


lines,    but   forward,    to    where   a    baby 
waited — through  a  dancing  mist  of  red. 

And  so  the  soldier  made  his  poor 
apology,  turning  his  head  away  to  avoid 
a  dreaded  look  in  Virgie's  big,  reproach- 
ful eyes;  then  he  added  one  more  lash- 
welt  to  his  shame: 

"  And  now  your  poor  old  daddy  is  no 
more  use  to  you.  I  come  to  my  little  girl 
with  empty  hands — with  an  empty  gun 
— and  an  empty  heart !  " 

He  said  it  bitterly,  in  the  self-accusing 
sorrow  of  his  soul;  and  his  courage, 
which  had  borne  him  through  a  hell  of 
suffering,  now  broke;  but  only  when  a 
helper  of  the  helpless  failed.  He  laid  his 
outflung  arms  across  the  table.  He  bowed 
his  beaten  head  upon  them  and  sobbed 
aloud,  with  sobs  that  shook  him  to  his 
heels.  |j| 

It  was  then  that  Virgie  came  to  himf 
little  daughter  of  the   South, 


J 


who,  like  a  hundred  thousand  of  her  sis- 
ters, brought  comfort  in  the  blackest 
hours.  The  Daughters  of  the  South!  A 
crutch — on  which  the  staggering  hopes 
of  Dixie  leaned. 

One  tiny,  weak  arm  was  slipped  about 
his  neck.  One  tiny  brown  hand,  with  its 
berry-stained  fingers,  was  run  through 
his  tangled  hair,  softly,  tenderly,  even 
as  she  longed  to  soothe  the  weary  head 
of  General  Lee. 

"  Don't  cry,  Daddy-man,"  she  mur- 
mured in  his  ear ;  "  it's  all  right.  /  can 
eat  the  blackberries.  They — they  don't 
taste  so  awful  good  when  you  have  'em 
all  the  time;  but  /  don't  mind."  She 
paused  to  kiss  him,  then  tried  once  more 
to  buoy  his  hope  and  hers.  "  We'll  have 
jus'  heaps  of  things  when  we  get  to  Rich- 
mon' — jus'  heaps — an'  then- — 

She  stopped  abruptly,  lifting  her  head 
and  listening,  in  the  manner  of  a  sheep 


- 


t 


I 


M 


I 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

dog  scenting  danger  from  afar.  Her  fa- 
ther looked  up  sharply  and  gripped  her 
hands. 

"Virgie!    You  hear— what?  " 

"  Horses !  Oh,  a  lot  of  'em !  On  the 
big  road ! " 

It  was  true,  for  down  the  breeze  came 
the  faintly  echoed  thud  of  many  hoofs 
and  the  clinking  jingle  of  sabers  against 
the  riders'  thighs.  Virgie  turned  back 
from  the  open  door. 

"Why — why,  they've  turned  into  our 
road ! "  Her  breath  came  fast,  as  she 
sank  her  voice  to  a  faint,  awed  whis- 
per, "  Daddy — do  you  reckon  it's — 
Yankees?" 

"  Yes,"  said  her  father,  who  had  risen 
to  his  feet.  "  Morrison's  cavalry !  They 
won't  hurt  you;  but  I'll  have  to  get  to 
;he  woods  again!  Good-by,  honey! 
Good-by ! " 

He  kissed  her  hurriedly  and  started 
[25] 


for  the  door,  but  shrank  into  the  shadow 
at  sight  of  a  blue-clothed  watcher  sharply 
outlined  on  the  crest  of  a  distant  rise. 
Escape  was  cut  off,  and  the  hunted  sol- 
dier turned  to  Virgie  in  his  need. 

"  Shut  the  door — quick !  "  She  obeyed 
in  silence.  "  Lock  it !  "  She  turned  the 
rusty  key,  and  waited.  "  Now  the  win- 
dows!    Hurry,  but  do  it  quietly." 

She  closed  the  clumsy  shutters  and  set 
the  heavy  bars  into  their  slots;  then  the 
man  came  forward,  knelt  down  before 
her,  and  took  her  hands. 

"  Listen,  Virginia,"  he  whispered  ear- 
nestly ;  "  don't  you  remember  how  your 
dear,  dear  mother — and  I,  too,  darling — 
always  told  you  never  to  tell  a  lie?  " 

"  An'  I  haven't,  Daddy-man,"  she  pro- 
tested, wondering.  "  'Deed,  an'  'deed,  I 
haven't.    Why " 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know,"  he  interrupted  hur- 
riedly, "but  now — you  must. 

[26] 


child  stepped  backward  and  tried  to 
draw  away,  he  clasped  her  hands  more 
tightly  still.  "  But  listen,  dear ;  it's  to 
save  me!  Don't  you  understand? — and 
it's  right!  When  those  men  come,  they 
mustn't  find  me.  Say  I  was  here,  but 
I've  gone.  If  they  ask  which  way,  tell 
them  I  went  down  past  the  spring — 
through  the  blackberry  patch.  Do  you 
understand? — and  can  you  remember?" 
She  nodded  gravely,  and  the  Southerner 
folded  her  tightly  in  his  arms.  "  Be  a 
brave  little  rebel,  honey — for  me!" 

He  released  her  and  began  to  mount 
the  ladder  leading  to  the  scuttle  in  the 
ceiling;  but  halfway  up  he  paused,  as 
Virgie  checked  him  with  a  solemn  ques- 
tion: 
*F*)v.  "  Daddy — would  Gen'ral  Lee  want  me 
?:Uo  tell  that  lie?" 

"  Yes,    dear,"    he    answered    slowly, 
thoughtfully ;  "  this  once !    And,  if  ever 
[27] 


< 


J) 


I 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

you  see  him,  ask  him,  and  he'll  tell  you 
so  himself.  God  help  you,  darling;  it's 
for  General  Lee — and  you!" 

The  littlest  rebel  sighed,  as  though  a 
weight  had  been  lifted  from  her  mind, 
and  she  cocked  her  head  at  the  sound  of 
louder  hoof-beats  on  the  carriage  road. 

"All  right,  Daddy-man.  I'll  tell— a 
whopper!  " 


II 


The  man  crawled  up  through  the  scut- 
tle hole  and  disappeared;  then  drew  the 
ladder  after  him  and  closed  the  trap, 
while  Virgie  tiptoed  to  the  table  and 
slipped  into  a  seat. 

The  cabin  was  now  in  semi-darkness, 
except  for  a  shaft  of  sunlight  entering 
through  the  jagged  wound  from  the  can- 
non-shot above  the  d,oor;  and  it  fell  on 
the  quaint,  brown  head  of  little  Miss 
Virginia  Cary,  and  the  placid  form  of 
Susan  Jemima,  perching  opposite,  in  se- 
rene contempt  of  the  coming  of  a  con- 
quering host. 

The  jingling  clank  of  sabers  grew 
louder  to  the  listeners'  ears,  through  the 
[29] 


I 


1 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

rumble  of  pounding  hoofs;  a  bugle's  note 
came  winnowing  across  the  fields,  and 
Virgie  leaned  forward  with  a  confidential 
whisper  to  her  doll: 

"  Susan  Jemima,  I  wouldn't  tell  any- 
body else — no,  not  for  anything — but  I 
cert'n'y  am  awful  scared !  " 

There  came  a  scurrying  rush,  a  com- 
mand to  halt,  and  a  rustling,  scraping 
noise  of  dismounting  men;  a  pause,  and 
the  sharp,  loud  rap  of  a  saber  hilt  against 
the  door.  Virgie  breathed  hard,  but 
made  no  answer. 

"  Open  up ! "  called  a  voice  outside, 
but  the  little  rebel  closed  her  lips  and 
sat  staring  at  Susan  Jemima  across  the 
table.  A  silence  followed,  short,  yet 
filled  with  dread;  then  came  a  low-toned 
order  and  the  crash  of  carbine  butts  on 
the  stout  oak  door.  For  a  time  it  resisted 
hopefully,  then  slowly  its  top  sagged  in, 
with  a  groaning,  grating  protest  from 
[30] 


%&^ 


its  rusty  hinges;  it  swayed,  collapsed  in 
a  cloud  of  dust — and  the  enemy  swept 
over  it. 

They  came  with  a  rush ;  in  the  lead  an 
officer,  young  and  dashing,  a  naked  sa- 
ber in  his  fist,  followed  by  a  squad  of 
grim-faced  troopers,  each  with  his  car- 
bine cocked  and  ready  for  discharge. 
Yet,  as  suddenly  as  they  had  come,  they 
halted  now  at  the  sight  of  a  little  lady, 
seated  at  table,  eating  berries,  as  calmly 
as  though  the  dogs  of  war  had  never 
even  growled. 

A  wondering  silence  followed,  till 
broken  by  a  piping  voice,  in  grave  but 
courteous  reproof: 

"  I — I  don't  think  you  are  very  po- 
lite." 

The  officer  in  command  was  forced  to 
smile. 

"  I'm  sorry,  my  dear,"  he  apologized ; 
"  but  am  afraid,  this  time,  I  can't  quite 
[31] 


,i 


d 


S^J 


help  it."  He  glanced  at  the  door  of  the 
adjoining  room  and  turned  to  his  waiting 
men,  though  speaking  in  an  undertone: 
"  He's  in  there,  I  guess.  Don't  fire  if 
you  can  help  it — on  account  of  the  baby. 
Now  then !     Steady,  boys !    Advance !  " 

He  led  the  way,  six  troopers  following, 
while  the  rest  remained  behind  to  guard 
the  cabin's  open  door.  Virgie  slowly 
turned  her  head,  with  eyes  that  watched 
the  officer's  every  move;  then  presently 
she  called: 

"  Hey,  there !  That's  my  room — an' 
don't  you-all  bother  any  of  my  things, 
either!" 

This  one  command,  at  least,  was  im- 
plicitly obeyed,  for  in  a  moment  the  dis- 
appointed squad  returned.     The  carbine 
butts  were  grounded;  the  troopers  stood 
;|at  orderly  attention,  while  their  officer 
j  stepped  toward  the  table. 

"What's  your  name,  little  monkey?" 
[32] 


r 


i 


i 


Virgie   raised   her   eyes   in   swift 
proach. 

"  I  don't  like  to  be  called  a  monkey. 
It — it  isn't  respectful." 

The  Union  soldier  laughed. 

"  Oho !  I  see."  He  touched  his  hat 
and  made  her  a  sweeping  bow.  "  A  thou- 
sand pardons,  Mademoiselle."  He  shot 
his  sword  into  its  scabbard,  and  laughed 
again.  "  Might  I  inquire  as  to  what  you 
are  called  by  your — er — justly  respectful 
relatives  and  friends?  " 

"  Virgie,"  she  answered  simply. 

"  Ah,"  he  approved,  "  and  a  very 
pretty  name !    Virgie  what?  " 

"  My  whole  name  is  Miss  Virginia 
Houston  Cary." 

The  soldier  started,  glanced  at  his 
troopers,  then  back  to  the  child  again : 

"  Is  Herbert  Cary  your  father?  " 

He  waited  for  her  answer,  and  got  it, 
straight  from  a  baby's  shoulder: 
[33] 


. 


M^ 


i 


, 


u  Mister  Herbert  Cary  is— yes,  sir 

The  enemy  smiled  and  made  her  an- 
other bow. 

"  I  stand  corrected.  Where  is  your  fa- 
ther now?" 

Virgie  hesitated. 

*  I— I  don't  know." 

The  voice  of  her  inquisitor  took  on  a 
sterner  tone: 

"  Is  he  here? — hiding  somewhere?  Tell 
me!" 

Her  little  heart  was  pounding,  horri- 
bly, and  the  hot  blood  came  into  her 
cheeks;  but  she  looked  him  squarely  in 
the  face,  and  lied — for  General  Lee: 

"No,  sir.  Daddy  was  here — but  he's 
gone  away." 

The  enemy  was  looking  at  her,  intently, 
and  his  handsome,   piercing  eyes  grew 

ost  uncomfortable.  She  hung  for  an 
instant  between  success  and  sobbing  fail- 
ure, till  a  bubble  from  Mother  Eve  rose 
[34] 


"MIGHT   I   INQUIRE   WHAT   YOU   ARE   CALLED 
BY  YOUR  RELATIVES   AND   FRIENDS?" 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

up  in  her  youthful  blood  and  burst  into 
a  spray  of  perfect,  feminine  deceit.  She 
did  not  try  to  add  to  her  simple  state- 
ment, but  began  to  eat  her  berries, 
calmly,  as  though  the  subject  were  com- 
pletely closed. 

"  Which  way  did  he  go?  "  the  officer 
demanded,  and  she  pointed  with  her 
spoon. 

"  Down  by  the  spring — through  the 
blackberry  patch." 

The  soldier  was  half-convinced.  He 
stood  for  a  moment^  looking  at  the  floor, 
then  asked  her  sharply,  suddenly: 

"  If  your  father  had  gone,  then  why 
did  you  lock  that  door?  " 

She  faltered,  but  only  for  an  instant. 

"  ' Cause  I  thought  you  might  be — nig- 
gers." 

The  man  before  her  clenched  his  hands, 
as  he  thought  of  that  new-born,  hideous 
danger  menacing  the  South. 

[35] 


I 


\ 


"  I  see,"  he  answered  gently ;  " 
see."  He  turned  away,  but,  even  as  he 
turned,  his  eye  was  caught  by  the  double- 
doored  cupboard  against  the  wall. 
"  What  do  you  keep  in  there?  "  he  asked; 
and  the  child  smiled  faintly,  a  trifle 
sadly,  in  reply: 

"  We  used  to  keep  things  to  eat — when 
we  had  any." 

He  noted  her  mild  evasion,  and  pushed 
his  point. 

"What  is  in  it  now?" 

"  Tin  pans." 

"Anything  else?" 

"  Er — yes,  sir." 

He  caught  his  breath  and  stepped  a 
little  nearer,  bending  till  his  face  was 
close  to  hers. 

"  What?  " 

"  Colonel  Mosby,"  declared  the  mite, 
with  a  most  emphatic  nod;  "  an'  you  bet- 


-. 


ter  look  out,  too !  " 


IMjflg 


, 


i 


4\ 


The  officer  laughed  as  he  turned  to  his 
grinning  squad. 

"Bright  little  youngster!  Still,  I 
think  we'll  have  a  look."  He  dropped 
his  air  of  amusement,  growing  stern 
again.     "  Now,  men !     Ready !  " 

They  swung  into  line  and  faced  the 
cupboard,  the  muzzles  of  their  carbines 
trained  upon  it,  while  their  leader  ad- 
vanced, swung  open  the  doors,  and 
quickly  stepped  aside. 

On  the  bottom  shelf,  as  Virgie  had  de- 
clared, were  a  few  disconsolate  tin  pans ; 
jet  tacked  to  the  door  was  a  picture 
print  of  Mosby — that  dreaded  guerrilla 
whose  very  name  was  a  bugaboo  in  the 
Union  lines. 

The  littlest  rebel  flung  back  her  head 
and  laughed. 

"  My,  but  you  looked  funny !  "  she  said ; 
to    the    somewhat    disconcerted    officer, : 
pointing  at  him  with  her  spoon. 
[37] 


A 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

mouse  had  jumped  out,  I  reckon  it  would 
have  scared  you  mos'  to  death." 

The  young  man's  cheeks  flushed  red, 
in  spite  of  his  every  effort  at  control; 
nor  was  he  assisted  by  the  knowledge 
that  his  men  were  tittering  behind  his 
back.    He  turned  upon  them  sharply. 

"  That  will  do,"  he  said,  and  gave  a 
brusque  command :  "  Corporal,  deploy 
your  men  and  make  a  thorough  search 
outside.  Examine  the  ground  around 
the  spring — and  report !  " 

"  Yis,  sor,"  returned  the  Corporal,  sa- 
luting and  dropping  his  hand  across  his 
mouth  to  hide  a  grin  of  involuntary  in- 
subordination;  then  he  snarled  at  his 
men,  though  his  little  blue,  Irish  eyes 
were  twinkling:  " 'Tention!  Right  face! 
Forward  I    March  I " 

The    squad    trooped    out    across    the 
broken  door,  leaving  their  commandin 
officer  alone  with  his  rebel  prisoner. 
[38] 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


"  Now,  Virgie,"  he  asked,  in  a  kindly 
tone,  though  holding  her  eyes  with  his, 
"  do  you  mean  to  tell  me — cross  your 
heart — that  you  are  here,  just  by  your- 
self? " 

"  Er — no,  sir."  As  he  opened  his  lips 
to  speak,  she  pointed  to  her  doll.  "  Me 
an'  Susan  Jemima." 

"Well,  that's  a  fact,"  he  laughed. 
"  Hanged  if  I'm  not  losing  all  my  social 
polish."  He  gallantly  removed  his  hat, 
bowed  gravely  to  the  cedar  stick,  and 
shook  its  hand.  "  Charmed  to  make  your 
acquaintance,  Miss  Susan,  believe  me. 
My  own  name  is  Morrison — Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Morrison — at  your  service — and 
your  mother's."  He  turned  to  the  little 
mother  with  a  smile  that  showed  a  row 
of  white  and  even  teeth.  "And  now," 
,  he  said,  "  since  we  are  all  informally  in- 
;  troduced,  suppose  we  have  a  quiet,  com- 
fortable chat."  He  paused,  but  she  made 
[39] 


q 


( 


^^Mll^fc^2 


h 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

no  answer.  "Well?  Aren't  you  going 
to  ask  me  to  have  some  breakfast?  " 

Virgie  cast  a  troubled  gaze  into  the 
plate  before  her. 

"Er — no,  sir." 

"  What?    Why  not?  " 

She  faltered,  and  answered  slowly: 

"  'Cause — 'cause  you're  one  of  the 
damn  Yankees." 

"  Oh !  oh !  oh !  "  exclaimed  the  soldier, 
shocked  to  hear  a  baby's  lips  profaned. 
"  Little  girls  shouldn't  use  such  words. 
Why,  Virgie!" 

She  raised  her  eyes,  clear,  fearless, 
filled  with  vindicating  innocence. 

"  Well,  it's  your  name,  isn't  it?  Every- 
body calls  you  that." 

"  Um — yes,"  he  admitted,  striving  to 
^v  check  the  twitching  of  his  lips ;  "  I  sup- 
"':c ipose  they  do — south  of  Washington.  But 
^  don't  you  know  we  are  just  like  other 
people?"     She  shook  her  head.     "Oh, 

[40] 


, 


J) 


i. 


i 


we 
at 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

are.     Why,    /    have    a 
home — not    any    bigger 


little 
than 


yes, 
girl 
you. 

"  Have  you?  "  asked  Virgie,  her  bud- 
ding racial  prejudice  at  war  with  youth- 
ful curiosity.     "  What's  her  name?  " 

"  Gertrude,"  he  answered  softly,  ten- 
derly. "  Gertrude  Morrison.  Would 
you  like  to  see  her  picture?  " 

"Yes,"  said  the  little  rebel,  and 
stepped  across  the  gulf  which  had  lain 
between  her  and  her  enemy.  "  You  can 
sit  down  if  you  want  to.  Jus'  put  Susan 
Jemima  on  the  table." 

"  Thank  you,"  returned  her  visitor, 
obeying  instructions,  seating  himself  and 
loosening  the  upper  buttons  of  his  coat. 
On  his  neck,  suspended  by  a  chain,  was 
a  silver  locket  containing  the  miniature 
of  a  plump  and  pretty  child.  It  had  lain 
there  since  the  war  began,  through  many 
a  bivouac,  many  a  weary  march,  and 
[41] 


»*S2Sj 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

even  in  the  charge  he  could  feel  it  tap- 
ping against  his  breast;  so  now,  as  he 
held  it  out  to  Virgie,  the  father's  hand 
was  trembling. 

"  There  she  is.  My  Gertrude — my  lit- 
tle Gertrude/' 

Virgie  leaned  forward  eagerly. 

"  Oh !  "  she  said,  in  unaffected  admira- 
tion.   "  She's  mighty  pretty.    She's " 

The  child  stopped  suddenly,  and  raised 
her  eyes.  "  An'  she's  fat,  too.  I  reckon 
Gertrude  gets  lots  to  eat,  doesn't 
she?  " 

"  Why,  yes,"  agreed  the  father,  think- 
ing of  his  comfortable  Northern  home; 
"  of  course.    Don't  you?  " 

Virgie  weighed  the  question  thought- 
fully before  she  spoke. 

"  Sometimes — when  Daddy  gets  through 
the  lines  and  brings  it  to  me." 

The  soldier  started  violently,  wrenched 
back  from  the  selfish  dream  of  happiness  * 
[42] 


A 


J 


that  rose  as  he  looked  at  the  picture  of 
his  child. 

"What!  Is  that  why  your  father 
comes?  " 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Good  God!" 

He  rose  to  his  feet  and  turned  away, 
his  thoughts  atuinble,  a  pang  of  parental 
pity  gnawing  at  his  heart;  then  he 
wheeled  and  faced  her,  asking,  with  a 
break  in  his  husky  voice: 

"  And  at  other  times — what  do  you 
eat,  then?" 

She  made  a  quaint,  depreciating  ges- 
ture toward  the  appointments  of  her 
breakfast  table. 

"  Blackberries — an' — an'  coffee  made 
out  of  aco'ns." 

Again  the  troubled  conqueror  turned 
Lway. 

"  Oh,  it's  a  shame ! "  he  muttered  be- 
tween his  teeth.     "  A  hellish  shame !  " 
[43] 


'J 


He  stood  for  a  moment,  silently,  till 
Virgie  spoke  and  jarred  him  with  another 
confidence. 

"  My  cousin  Norris  told  me  that  the 
Yankees  have  bread  every  day;  an'  tea — 
an'  milk — an'  everything.    An'  butter!" 

This  last-named  article  of  common 
diet  was  mentioned  with  an  air  of  rever- 
ential awe;  and,  somehow,  it  hurt  the 
well-fed  Union  officer  far  more  than 
had  she  made  some  direct  accusation 
against  the  invading  armies  of  the 
North. 

"  Don't,  Virgie — please,"  he  murmured 
softly.  "  There  are  some  things  we  just 
can't  bear  to  listen  to — even  in  times  of 
war."  He  sighed  and  dropped  into  his 
former  seat,  striving  gently  to  change 
the  subject.  "You  have  lived  here — al- 
.ways?  " 

"  Oh,  no,"  she  assured  him,  with  a  lift 
of  her  small,  patrician  brows.  "This  is 
[44] 


M 


\j . 


1 


1 


the  overseer's  house.    Our  house  used  to 
be  up  on  the  hill,  in  the  grove." 

"  Used  to  be ?  " 

"Yes,  sir.  But — but  the  Yankees 
burnt  it  up." 

Morrison's  fist  came  down  on  the  table 
with  a  crash.  For  a  moment  he  sat  in 
silence,  frowning  at  the  floor,  then  spoke, 
without  looking  up: 

"  Tell  me  about  it.    Won't  you?  " 

She  nodded,  wriggled  from  her  chair, 
and  stood  beside  the  table. 

"  Oh,  it  was  a  long  time  ago — a  month, 
maybe — an'  they  came  in  the  night  time. 
Mamma  an'  me  were  all  by  ourselves — 
'ceptin'  one  colored  girl,  name'  Sally  Ann. 
An'  we  were  dreadful  scared — an'  we  hid 
in  the  woods,  all  night — an' — an'  it 
rained." 

She  paused.     Her  listener  had  leaned 
ris  elbow  on  the  table,  his  hand  across 
his  eyes. 

[45] 


<^ 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"  Yes,  dear.    Go  on." 

The  child  had  been  standing  opposite, 
with  Susan  Jemima  and  the  acorn-coffee 
pot  between  them;  but  gradually  she  be- 
gan to  edge  a  little  nearer,  till  presently 
she  stood  beside  him,  fingering  a  shiny 
button  on  his  coat. 

"  An'  the  blue  boys  ate  up  everything 
we  had — an'  took  our  corn.  An'  when 
they  went  away  from  our  house,  they — 
a  man  set  it  on  fire.  But  another  man 
got  real  mad  with  him,  an' — an'  shot 
him.  /  know,  'cause  mamma  an'  Sally 
Ann  put  him  in  the  ground."  She 
paused,  then  sank  her  voice  to  a  whisper 
of  mysterious  dread,  "  An' — an'  I  saw 
him!" 

"  Don't  think  about  it,  Virgie,"  begged 
Morrison,  slipping  his  arm  about  the 
mite,  and  trying  not  to  put  his  own 
cloved  ones  in  the  little  rebel's 
place. 

[46] 


i 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


Her  story,  even  so  simply  told,  was 
horrible;  yet  old  to  the  veteran's  ears. 
A  detachment  foraging  for  food,  descend- 
ing like  locusts  on  some  country-seat,  to 
sweep  it  bare;  the  hurried  departure; 
some  drunken  ruffian  who  applied  the 
torch,  then  paid  the  penalty  with  a 
bullet  crashing  through  his  brain.  It 
was  horrible— and  worse! — for  when  the 
morning  came,  the  women  crept  back 
from  the  dripping  woods,  to  mourn  amid 
the  ashes  of  their  all;  to  bury  the  man 
who  had  wrought  their  desolation  and 
despair. 

"Well?"  asked  Morrison  presently. 
"What  happened  then?" 

"  We  came  to  live  here,"  said  Virgie ; 

"  but   mamma   got   sick.      Oh,    she   got 

.terrible     sick — an'     one     night     Daddy 

came    through,    and    put    her    in    the 

i ground,    too.      But    he    says  she's  jus' 

asleep." 

[47] 


J 


S&a 


The  soldier  drew  the  baby  closer  to 
him,  stroking  her  hair,  as  her  sleeping 
mother  might  have  done,  and  waited  for 
the  rest. 

"An'  las'  Friday,  Sally  Ann  went 
away — I  don't  know  where — an' — — " 

"  What?  "  asked  Morrison.  "  She  left 
you  here — all  by  yourself?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  child,  with  a  care- 
less laugh.  "  But  /  don't  mind.  Sally 
Ann  was  a  triflin'  nigger,  anyhow.  You 
see " 

"  But,  good  Lord,  child !  "  he  inter- 
rupted, "  hadn't  you  any  relatives  or 
friends  to  take  you?" 

"  Oh,  yes,"  she  answered ;  "  ole  Mr. 
Spottswood  was  goin'  to  take  me,  but 
he's  lame,  an'  his  horse  fell  down.  The 
men  an'  the  boys  are  off  fightin' — an' — 
an'  some  ladies  were  goin'  to  come,  but  I 
reckon  they  got  cut  off  like  we  did.  Dad- 
dy's been  tryin'  to  get  me  up  to  Rich- 
[48] 


.1 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

mon',  where  my  Aunt  Margaret  lives  at, 
but  he  can't — 'cause  the  Yankees  are  up 
the  river  an'  down  the  river,  an' — an' 
everywhere — an'  he  can't."  She  paused, 
as  Morrison  turned  to  her  from  his  rest- 
less pacing  up  and  down.  "  My,  but 
you've  got  fine  clo'es!  Daddy's  clo'es 
are  all  rags — with — with  holes  in  'em." 

He  could  not  answer.  There  was 
nothing  for  him  to  say,  and  Virgie 
scorched  him  with  another  question: 

"What  did  you  come  after  Daddy 
for?" 

"  Oh,  not  because  I  wanted  to,  little 
girl,"  he  burst  out  harshly.  "  But  you 
wouldn't  understand."  He  had  turned 
away,  and  was  gazing  through  the  open 
door,  listening  to  the  muttered  wrath  of 
the  big  black  guns  far  down  the  river. 
?^"It's  war!  One  of  the  hateful,  pitiful 
things  of  war!  I  came  because  I  had  my 
orders." 


■ 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


"  From  your  Gen'ral?  " 

He  lowered  his  chin,  regarding  her  in 
mild  astonishment. 

"  Yes — my  General." 

"An'   do   you   love   him — like  /  love 
Gen'ral  Lee?" 

"Yes,  dear,"  he  answered  earnestly; 
"of  course." 

He  wondered  again  to  see  her  turn 
away  in  sober  thought,  tracing  lines  on 
the  dusty  floor  with  one  small  brown  toe ; 
for  the  child  was  wrestling  with  a  prob- 
lem. If  a  soldier  had  orders  from  his 
general,  as  she  herself  might  put  it,  "  he 
was  bound  to  come " ;  but  still  it  was 
hard  to  reconcile  such  duty  with  the  cap- 
ture of  her  father.  Therefore,  she  raised 
her  tiny  chin  and  resorted  to  tactics  of 
a  purely  personal  nature: 
gk  "An'  didn't  you  know,  if  you  hurt 
my  Daddy,  I'd  tell  Uncle  Fitz  Lee  on 


■ 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


"  No,"  the  Yankee  smiled.  "  Is  he 
your  uncle?  " 

The  littlest  rebel  regarded  him  with  a 
look  of  positive  pity  for  his  ignorance. 

"  He's  everybody's  uncle,"  she  stated 
warmly.  "  An'  if  I  was  to  tell  him,  he'd 
come  right  after  you  an' — an'  lick  the 
stuffings  out  of  you." 

The  soldier  laughed. 

"  My  dear,"  he  confided,  with  a  dancing 
twinkle  in  his  eye,  "  to  tell  you  the  hon- 
est truth,  your  Uncle  Fitz  has  done  it 
already — several  times." 

"  Has  he?  "  she  cried,  in  rapturous  de- 
light.   "  Oh,  has  he?  " 

"  He  has,"  the  enemy  repeated,  with 
vigor  and  conviction.  "  But  suppose  we 
shift  our  conversation  to  matters  a  shade 
more  pleasant.     Take  you,  for  instance 

;^You    see "      He    stopped    abruptly, 

turning  his  head  and  listening  with  keen 
intentness.     "  What's  that?"  he  asked 
[51] 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


"  I  didn't  hear  anything,"  said  Virgie, 
breathing  very  fast;  but  she  too  had 
heard  it — a  sound  above  them,  a  scrap- 
ing sound,  as  of  someone  lying  flat  along 
the  rafters  and  shifting  his  position ;  and, 
while  she  spoke,  a  tell-tale  bit  of  plaster 
fell,  and  broke  as  it  struck  the  floor. 

Morrison  looked  up,  starting  as  he  saw 
the  outlines  of  the  closely  fitting  scuttle, 
for  the  loft  was  so  low  and  shallow  that 
he  had  not  suspected  its  presence  from 
an  outside  view;  but  now  he  was  certain 
of  the  fugitive's  hiding-place.  Virgie 
watched  him,  trembling,  growing  hot  in 
the  pit  of  her  little  stomach;  yet,  when 
he  faced  her,  she  looked  him  squarely  in 
the  eye,  fighting  one  last  battle  for  her 
Daddy — as  hopeless  as  the  tottering 
cause  of  the  Stars  and  Bars. 

"You — you  don't  think  he  can  fly,  do 
you?  " 

little    Rebel,"    the    soldier    an- 

[52] 


m 


THE  LITTLEST  KEBEL 


swered  gently,  sadly ;  "  but  there  are 
other  ways."  He  glanced  at  the  table, 
measuring  its  height  with  the  pitch  of 
the  ceiling,  then  turned  to  her  again :  "  Is 
your  father  in  that  loft?  "  She  made  no 
answer,  but  began  to  back  away.  "  Tell 
me  the  truth.  Look  at  me !  "  Still  no 
answer,  and  he  took  a  step  toward  her, 
speaking  sternly:  "Do  you  hear  me? 
Look  at  me !  " 

She  tried;  but  her  courage  was  oozing 
fast.  She  had  done  her  best,  but  now 
it  was  more  than  the  mite  could  stand; 
so  she  bit  her  lip  to  stop  its  quivering, 
and  turned  her  head  away.  For  a  mo- 
ment the  man  stood,  silent,  wondering  if 
it  was  possible  that  the  child  had  been 
coached  in  a  string  of  lies  to  trade 
upon  his  tenderness  of  heart ;  then  he  , 
spoke,  in  a  voice  of  mingled  pity  andf( 
reproach : 

"  And  so  you  told  me  a  story.    And  all 

[53] 


JA 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


-is 


Oh,  Virgie 


the  rest- 
Virgie ! " 

"  I  didn't ! "  she  cried,  the  big  tears 
breaking  out  at  last.  "  I  didn't  tell  you 
stories !  Only  jus'  a  little  one — for  Daddy 
— an'  Gen'ral  Lee." 

She  was  sobbing  now,  and  the  man 
looked  down  upon  her  in  genuine  com- 
passion, his  own  eyes  swimming  at  her 
childish  grief,  his  soldier  heart  athrob 
and  aching  at  the  duty  he  must  perform. 

"  I'm  sorry,  dear,"  he  sighed,  removing 
her  doll  and  draggiDg  the  table  across 
the  floor  to  a  point  directly  beneath  the 
scuttle  in  the  ceiling. 

"  What  are  you  goin'  to  do? "  she 
asked  in  terror,  following  as  he  moved. 
"  Oh,  what  are  you  goin'  to  do?  " 

He  did  not  reply.  He  could  not;  but 
when  he  placed  a  chair  upon  the  table  and 
prepared  to  mount,  then  Virgie  under- 
stood. 

[54] 


Hl 


i 


i 


lV 


: 


& 


^wJ 


:, 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

"  You  shan't !  You  shan't !  "  she  cried 
out  shrilly.  "  He's  my  Daddy — and  you 
shan't ! " 

She  pulled  at  the  table,  and  when  he 
would  have  put  her  aside,  as  gently  as  he 
could,  she  attacked  him  fiercely,  in  a 
childish  storm  of  passion,  sobbing,  strik- 
ing at  him  with  her  puny  fists.  The  sol- 
dier bowed  his  head  and  moved  away. 

"Oh,  I  can't!  I  can't!"  he  breathed, 
in  conscience-stricken  pain.  "  There  must 
be  some  other  way;  and  still " 

He  stood  irresolute,  gazing  through 
the  open  door,  watching  his  men  as  they 
hunted  for  a  fellow  man ;  listening  to  the 
sounds  that  floated  across  the  stricken 
fields — the  calls  of  his  troopers;  the  lo- 
custs in  the  sun-parched  woods  chanting 
their  shrill,  harsh  litany  of  drought;  but 
more  insistent  still  came  the  muffled 
boom  of  the  big  black  guns  far  down  the 
muddy  James.  They  called  to  him,  these 
[55] 


. 


wQ 


Mt 


S 


Rl 


"1 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


guns,  in  the  hoarse-tongued  majesty  of 
war,  bidding  him  forget  himself,  his  love, 
his  pity — all  else,  but  the  grim  command 
to  a  marching  host — a  host  that  must 
reach  its  goal,  though  it  marched  on  a 
road  of  human  hearts. 

The  soldier  set  his  teeth  and  turned 
to  the  little  rebel,  deciding  on  his  course 
of  action;  best  for  her,  best  for  the  man 
who  lay  in  the  loft  above,  though  now 
it  must  seem  a  brutal  cruelty  to  both. 

"Well,  Virgie,"  he  said,  "since  you 
haven't  told  me  what  I  want  to  know,  I'll 
have  to  take  you — and  give  you  to  the. 
Yankees." 

He  stepped  toward  her  swiftly  and 
caught  her  by  the  wrist.  She  screamed 
in  terror,  fighting  to  break  his  hold,  while 
the  trap  above  them  opened,  and  the  head 
and  shoulders  of  the  Southerner  ap- 
peared, his  pistol  held  in  his  outstretched 
hand. 

[56] 


> 


THE   NORTHERNER   STOOD   UNMOVED   AS   HE 
LOOKED   INTO   THE   PISTOL'S  MUZZLE. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


Drop   it,   you   hound!"   he   ordered 
fiercely.     "  Drop  it !  " 

The  Northerner  released  his  captive, 
but  stood  unmoved  as  he  looked  into  the 
pistol's  muzzle  and  the  blazing  eyes  of 
the  cornered  scout. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  he  said,  in  quiet  dignity. 
"  I'm  very  sorry;  but  I  had  to  bring  you 
out."  He  paused,  then  spoke  again: 
"  And  you  needn't  bother  about  your  gun. 
If  you'd  had  any  ammunition,  our  fire 
would  have  been  returned,  back  yonder 
in  the  woods.  The  game's  up,  Cary. 
Come  down ! " 


[57] 


The  head  and  shoulders  disappeared. 
A  short  pause  followed,  then  the  ladder 
came  slowly  down,  and  the  Southerner 
descended,  while  Virgie  crouched,  a  sob- 
bing little  heap,  beside  her  doll.  But 
when  he  reached  the  bottom  rung,  she 
rose  to  her  feet  and  ran  to  meet  him, 
weeping  bitterly. 

"Oh,  Daddy,  Daddy,  I  didn't  do  it 
right!    I  didn't  do  it  right!  " 

She  buried  her  head  in  his  tattered 

coat,    while   he   slipped   an    arm    about 

<rHhther    and    tried    to    soothe    a    sorrow 

{too    great    for    such    a    tiny    heart    to ] 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


"  It  was  my  fault.  Mine !  My  leg  got 
cramped,  and  I  had  to  move."  He 
stooped  and  kissed  her.  "  It  was  my 
fault,  honey;  but  you? — you  did  it  splen- 
didly! "  He  patted  her  tear-stained  cheek, 
then  turned  to  his  captor,  with  a  grim, 
hard  smile  of  resignation  to  his  fate. 
"  Well,  Colonel,  you've  had  a  long  chase 
of  it;  but  you've  gotten  my  brush  at 
last." 

The  Union  soldier  faced  him,  speaking 
earnestly : 

"  Mr.  Cary,  you're  a  brave  man — and 
one  of  the  best  scouts  in  the  Confederate 
army.  I  regret  this  happening — more 
than  I  can  say."  The  Southerner 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  His  Northern 
captor  asked :  "  Are  you  carrying  dis- 
patches? " 

"  No." 

"Any  other  papers? — of  any  kind?" 
No  answer  came,  and  he  added  sternly: 
[59] 


. 


'V 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


I 


"  It  is  quite  useless  to  refuse.  Give  them 
to  me." 

He  held  out  his  hand,  but  his  captive 
only  looked  him  in  the  eyes;  and  the  an- 
swer, though  spoken  in  an  undertone, 
held  a  world  of  quiet  meaning : 

"  You  can  take  it — afterwards." 

The  Federal  officer  bit  his  lip ;  and  yet 
he  could  not,  would  not,  be  denied. 
His  request  became  demand,  backed  by 
authority  and  the  right  of  might,  till  Vir- 
gie  broke  in,  in  a  piping  voice  of  indig- 
nation : 

"  You  can't  have  it !  It's  mine !  My 
pass  to  Kichmon' — from  Gen'ral  Lee." 

Morrison  turned  slowly  from  the  little 
rebel  to  the  man. 

"  Is  this  true?  "  he  asked. 

The  Southerner  flushed,  and  for  reply 

produced   the  rumpled  paper  from  his 

boot  leg,  and  handed  it  over  without  a 

word.    The  Northerner  read  it  carefully. 

[60] 


J 


>jr/- 


•V 


$s£T 


"Pass  Virginia  Gary  and  escort  through  all  Con- 
federate lines  and  give  safe-conduct  wherever 
possible. 

"R.  E.  Lee,  General:' 


PL 


4 


The  reader  crushed  the  paper  in  his 
fist,  while  his  hand  sank  slowly  to  his 
side,  then  he  raised  his  head  and  asked, 
in  a  voice  which  was  strangely  out  of 
keeping  with  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  of  the 
Union  Cavalry: 

"  And  who  was  to  be  her  escort? 
You?" 

The  captive  nodded,  smiling  his  sad, 
grim  smile;  and  the  captor  swallowed 
hard  as  he  moved  to  the  cabin  door  and 
stood  listening  to  the  muttered  rumble 
of  the  river  guns. 

"  I'm  sorry,  Cary,"  he  whispered  bro- 
kenly ;  "  more  sorry  than  you  can  under- , 
stand." 

For  a  long  time  no  one  spoke,  then 
the  Southerner  went  to  Virgie,  dropping 
[61] 


f 


€L^ 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

his  hand  in  tenderness  on  her  tumbled 
hair. 

"  Just  go  into  your  room,  honey ;  I 
want  to  talk  to  Colonel  Morrison."  She 
looked  up  at  him  doubtfully;  but  he 
added,  with  a  reassuring  smile :  "  It's  all 
right,  darling.  I'll  call  you  in  just  a 
minute." 

Still  Virgie  seemed  to  hesitate.  She 
shifted  her  doubting  eyes  toward  the 
Union  officer,  turned,  and  obeyed  in  si- 
lence, closing  the  door  of  the  adjoining 
room  behind  her.  Then  the  two  men 
faced  each  other,  without  the  hampering 
presence  of  the  child,  each  conscious  of 
the  coming  tragedy  that  both,  till  now, 
had  striven  manfully  to  hide.  The  one 
moved  forward  toward  a  seat,  staggering 
as  he  walked,  and  catching  himself  on 
the  table's  edge,  while  the  other's 
went  out  to  lend  him  aid;  but  the  South- 
erner waved  him  off. 
[62] 


. 


I 


I 


J 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


"  Thank  you,"  he  said,  as  he  sank  into 
a  chair.    "  I  don't  want  help — from  you! " 

"  Why  not?  "  asked  Morrison. 

"  Because,"  said  Cary,  in  sullen  anger, 
"  I  don't  ask  quarter,  nor  aid,  from  a 
man  who  frightens  children." 

The  Northerner's  chin  went  up;  and 
when  he  replied  his  voice  was  trembling ; 
not  in  passion,  but  with  a  deeper,  finer 
something  which  had  gripped  his  admi- 
ration for  the  courage  of  a  child : 

"  And  I  wouldn't  hurt  a  hair  of  her 
splendid  little  head !  "  He  paused,  then 
spoke  again,  more  calmly :  "  You  thought 
me  a  beast  to  frighten  her ;  but  don't  you 
know  it  was  the  only  thing  to  do?  Other- 
wise my  men  might  have  had  to  shoot 
you — before  her  eyes."  Cary  made  no 
, answer,  though  now  he  understood;  and 
.Morrison  went  on :  "  It  isn't  easy  for  me  < 
to  track  a  fellow  creature  down;  to  take 
him  when  he's  wounded,  practically  un- 
[63] 


i 


*. , 


-Yc.i 


'.s^&l 


J 


J 


< 


Ik 


^J 


armed,  and  turn  him  over  to  a  firing 
squad.  But  it's  war,  my  friend — one  of 
the  merciless  realities  of  war — and  you 
ought  to  know  the  meaning  of  its  name." 

"  Yes,  I  know,"  returned  the  South- 
erner, with  all  the  pent-up  bitterness  of 
a  hopeless  struggle  and  defeat ;  "  it  has 
taken  three  years  to  teach  me — and  I 
know!  Look  at  me!"  he  cried,  as  he 
stood  up  in  his  rags  and  spread  his  arms. 
"  Look  at  my  country,  swept  as  bare  as 
a  stubble  field!  You've  whipped  us, 
maybe,  with  your  millions  of  money  and 
your  endless  men,  and  now  you  are  war- 
ring with  the  women  and  the  children ! " 
He  turned  his  back  and  spoke  in  the  deep 
intensity  of  scorn :  "  A  fine  thing, 
Colonel !  And  may  you  get  your  reward 
—in  hell!" 

The  Northerner  set  his  lips  in  a  thin, 

rcold  line;  but  curbed  his  wrath  and  an- 
swered the  accusation  quietly: 
[64] 


*€fr 


J& 


u 


"  There  are  two  sides  to  the  question, 
Cary;  but  there  must  be  one  flag!" 

"  Then  fly  your  flag  in  justice !  "  the 
Southerner  retorted  hotly,  wheeling  on 
his  enemy,  with  blazing  eyes  and  with 
hands  that  shook  in  the  stress  of  pas- 
sion. "A  while  ago  you  called  me  a 
brave  man  and  a  good  scout;  and,  be- 
cause I'm  both,  your  people  have  set  a 
price  on  me.  Five  hundred  dollars — 
alive  or  dead !  "  He  laughed ;  a  hoarse, 
harsh  travesty  of  mirth,  and  added,  with 
a  lip  that  curled  in  withering  contempt: 
"  Alive  or  dead !  A  gentleman  and  a 
scout! — for  just  half  the  price  of  one 
good,  sound  nigger!  By  God,  it  makes 
me  proud ! " 

Lieutenant-Colonel     Morrison     looked 
across  the  table  at  his  prisoner,  and  an- 
swered   gravely,    yet    with    a    touch    of^; 
sternness  in  his  military  tone: 

"You  are  more  than  a  scout,  Cary. 
[65] 


You've  carried  dispatches,  and  inter- 
cepted ours;  for  both  of  which,  if  taken, 
you  would  have  been  a  prisoner  of  war, 
no  more.  But  you've  entered  our  lines — 
not  in  a  uniform  of  gray,  but  blue — and 
you've  cost  us  the  loss  of  two  important 
battles." 

"And  had  you  done  the  same,"  re- 
turned the  Southerner,  "  for  you  it  would 
have  meant  promotion.  I've  served  my 
cause  as  best  I  could;  in  the  saddle  or 
the  rifle  pit;  in  the  woods,  or  creeping 
through  your  lines.  If  I've  cost  you  a 
battle,  my  life  is  a  puny  price  to  pay, 
and  I'd  pay  it  without  a  sigh."  He 
paused  and  sank  into  his  seat.  "  For 
myself,  I  don't  care  much.  I'm  worn 
out,  anyway;  and  I  only  wanted  to  get 
my  little  girl  to  Richmond."  At  the 
$3thought  of  Virgie  his  anger  returned  to, 
j" him,  and  he  once  more  staggered  to  his- 
feet.     "  But  you,"  he  accused,  "  you've 

[66] 


I 


beaten  a  baby  by  the  force  of  arms! 
You've  run  me  to  earth — and  you've 
blocked  her  chance!  It's  Virgie  you  are 
fighting  now — not  me — yes,  just  as  if  you 
rode  her  down  with  a  troop  of  horse !  A 
fine  thing,  Colonel!  For  you,  a  brevet! 
For  me,  a  firing  squad!  Well,  call  in 
your  men  and  get  it  over ! "  Again  he 
smiled;  a  grim,  slow  smile  of  bitterness 
and  scorn.  "  Bravo,  Colonel  Morri- 
son! Bravo!  You  add  one  other  glory 
to  your  conquering  sword — and,  besides, 
you'll  receive  five  hundred  dollars  in 
reward ! " 

The  Northerner  turned  upon  him 
fiercely,  goaded  at  last  to  the  breaking- 
point  in  a  struggle  as  black  and  awful  as 
the  struggle  of  his  brother-foe. 

"  Stop  it,  man !  "  he  cried.  "  For  God's 

sake,  stop!     It's  duty! — not  a  miserabh 

reward !  "    His  cheeks  were  flaming ;  his 

muscles    quivered,    and    his    fists    were 

[67] 


: 


clenched.  "  Do  you  suppose/'  he  asked, 
"  that  I'm  proud  of  this?  Do  you  think 
I'm  wringing  blood  out  of  your  heart  and 
mine — for  money?  Damn  you  for  think- 
ing it  I" 

They  faced  each  other,  two  crouching, 
snarling  animals,  the  raw,  primeval  pas- 
sions of  their  hearts  released,  each  seeing 
through  a  mist  of  red;  a  mist  that  had 
risen  up  to  roll  across  a  mighty  land  and 
plunge  its  noblest  sons  into  a  bloody  ruck 
of  war. 

They  faced  each  other,  silently;  then 
slowly  the  features  of  the  Southerner  re- 
laxed. His  bitterness  was  laid  aside.  He 
spoke,  in  the  soft,  slow  accent  of  his  peo- 
ple— an  accent  so  impossible  to  a  trick 
of  print  or  pen. 

"  I'm   glad   you   feel    that   way ;   and 
maybe,  after  all,  you're  doing  what  yc 
think  is  right.     Yes- — and  I  know  it 
hard."     He  stopped,  then  stepped  a  li 


Ji 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

tie  nearer,  timidly,  as  Virgie  might  have 
done.  "  Colonel/'  he  said,  scarce  audibly, 
"I  ask  you  just  one  thing;  not  for  my- 
self, but  for  her — for  Virgie.  Get  the 
poor  little  tad  through  your  lines,  will 
you? — and — and  don't  let  her  know — 
about  me." 

His  captor  did  not  answer  him  in 
words,  because  of  the  pain  that  took  him 
by  the  throat ;  but  his  hand  went  out,  till 
it  reached  another  hand  that  gripped  it 
gratefully. 

"  Thank  you,  Morrison,"  said  the 
prisoner  simply.  "  If  it  wasn't  war 
times — - — " 

He  choked,  and  said  no  more;  yet  si- 
lence proved  more  eloquent  than  human 
speech.  They  were  men — brave  men — 
and  both  were  grateful;  the  one,  because 
an  enemy  would  keep  his  unspoken  word ; 
the  other,  because  a  doomed  man  under- 
stood. 

[69] 


I 


B>' 


Cary  opened  the  door  of  his  daughter's 
room  and  called  to  her.  She  came  in 
quickly,  a  question  in  her  big  brown  eyes. 

"  Daddy,"  she  said,  "  you  talked  a 
mighty  long  time.  It  was  a  heap  more 
than  jus'  a  minute." 

"Was  it?"  he  asked,  and  forced  a 
smile.  "  Well,  you  see,  we  had  a  lot  to 
say."  He  seated  himself  and,  drawing 
her  between  his  knees,  took  both  her 
hands.     "  Now  listen,  honey ;  I'm  going 

away  with  this  gentleman,  and "   He 

stopped  as  she  looked  up  doubtfully; 
then  added  a  dash  of  gayety  to  his  tender- 
tone  :  "  Oh,  but  he  invited  me.  And 
think !  He's  coming  back  for  you — to-day 
[70] 


— to  send  you  up  to  Kichmond.  Now, 
isn't  that  just  fine?  " 

Virgie  looked  slowly  from  her  father 
to  the  Union  soldier,  who  stood  with 
downcast  eyes,  his  back  to  them. 

"  Daddy,"  she  whispered,  "  he's  a  right 
good  Yankee — isn't  he?  " 

"  Yes,  dear/'  her  father  murmured 
sadly,  and  in  yearning  love  for  the  baby 
he  must  leave  behind ;  "  yes — he's  mighty 
good ! " 

He  knelt  and  folded  her  in  his  arms, 
kissing  her,  over  and  over,  while  his  hand 
went  fluttering  about  her  soft  brown 
throat;  then  he  wrenched  himself  away, 
but  stood  for  a  lingering  instant  more, 
his  hands  outstretched,  atremble  for  a 
last  and  lingering  touch,  his  heart  a 
racing  protest  at  the  parting  he  must 
speak. 

"Cary!" 

It  was  Morrison  who  spoke,  in  mercy 
[ft] 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


for  the  man ;  and  once  more  Cary  under- 
stood. He  turned  to  cross  the  broken 
door;  to  face  a  firing  squad  in  the  hot, 
brown  woods;  to  cross  the  gulf  which 
stretched  beyond  the  rumble  of  the  guns 
and  the  snarling  lip  of  war.  But  even  as 
he  turned,  a  baby's  voice  called  out,  in 
cheerful  parting,  which  he  himself  had 
failed  to  speak : 

"  Good-by,  Daddy-man.  I'll  see  you 
up  in  Richmon'." 

The  eyes  of  the  two  men  met  and  held, 
in  the  hardest  moment  of  it  all;  for  well 
they  knew  this  hopeful  prophecy  could 
never  be  fulfilled.  Morrison  sighed  and 
moved  toward  the  door;  but,  from  its 
threshold,  he  could  see  his  troopers  re- 
turning at  a  trot  across  the  fields. 

"Wait,"  he  said  to  Cary;  "I'd  rather 
my  men  shouldn't  know  I've  talked  with 
you."  He  pointed  to  the  scuttle  in  the 
ceiling.     "Would  you  mind  if  I  asked 


j 


I, 


i 


you  to  go  back  again?  Hurry!  They  are 
coming 

The  captured  scout  saluted,  crossed  to 
the  ladder,  and  began  to  mount.  At  the 
top  he  paused  to  smile  and  blow  a  kiss 
to  Virgie,  then  disappeared,  drew  up  the 
ladder  after  him,  and  closed  the  trap. 

The  captor  stood  in  silence,  waiting  for 
his  men;  yet,  while  he  stood,  the  little 
rebel  pattered  to  his  side,  slipping  her 
hand  in  his  confidingly. 

"  Mr.  Yankee,"  she  asked,  and  looked 
up  into  his  face,  "  are  you  goin'  to  let 
Daddy  come  to  Richmon',  too?" 

Morrison  withdrew  his  hand  from  hers 
— withdrew  it  sharply — flung  himself 
into  a  seat  beside  the  table,  and  began 
to  scribble  on  the  back  of  Virgie's  rum- 
pled pass;  while  the  child  stood  watch- 
[ing,  trusting,  with  the  simple  trust  of 
her  little  mother-heart. 

In  a  moment  or  two,  the  troopers  came 


A 


b> ' 


I 


hurrying  in,  with  Corporal  O'Connell  in 
the  lead.  He  stood  at  attention,  saluted 
his  superior,  and  made  his  report  of  fail- 
ure in  the  search. 

"  Nothin',  sor.    No  thracks  around  th' 
spring,  an'  no  thraces  iv  th'  feller  anny- 

where;  but "    He  stopped.    His  keen 

eyes  marked  the  changed  position  of  the 
table  and  followed  upward.  He  saw  the 
outlines  of  the  scuttle  above  his  head, 
and  smiled.  "  But  I'm  glad  to  see, 
sor,  ye've  had  some  betther  luck 
yerself." 

"  Yes,  Corporal,"  said  Morrison,  with  a 
sharp  return  of  his  military  tone,  "  I 
think  I've  found  the  fox's  hole  at  last." 
He  rose  and  gave  his  orders  briskly. 
"  Push  that  table  forward ! — there ! — be- 
8ja  low  the  trap !  Two  of  you  get  on  it ! " 
He  turned  to  the  Corporal,  while  he  him-' 
self  climbed  up  and  stood  beside  his  men. 
"  Light  that  candle  and  pass  it  up  to 
[74] 


T  » 


i 


A 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

The  orders  were  obeyed.    "  Now, 
boost   me! — and    we'll    have    him 


me 

boys, 

out." 

They  raised  him,  till  he  pushed  the 
trap  aside  and  thrust  his  head  and  shoul- 
ders through  the  opening.  From  below 
they  could  see  him  as  he  waved  the 
lighted  candle  to  and  fro,  and  presently 
they  heard  his  voice,  that  sounded  deep 
and  muffled  in  the  shallow  loft: 

"All  right,  boys!  You  can  let  me 
down." 

He  slid  to  the  table  and  sprung  lightly 
to  the  floor,  facing  his  troopers  with 
a  smile,  half-humorous,  half  in  seem- 
ing disappointment,  as  he  glanced  at 
Virgie. 

"  I'm  afraid  the  little  rebel's  right 
again.    He  isn't  there!" 

"  Oh !  "  cried  Virgie,  then  clapped  her 
ands  across  her  mouth,  while  the  troop- 
ers slowly  looked  from  her  into  the  level 
[75] 


1 


THE  LITTLEST  KEBEL 

eyes  of  their  commanding  officer.  He 
stood  before  them,  straight  and  tall,  a 
soldier,  every  inch  of  him ;  and  they  knew 
that  Lieutenant-Colonel  Morrison  was 
lying  like  a  gentleman. 

But  the  Corporal  knew  more.  He  knew 
that  his  chief  was  staking  the  name  and 
title  of  an  honorable  soldier  against  the 
higher,  grander  title  of  "  a  man/'  The 
apple  in  his  Irish  throat  grew  strangely 
large;  but  not  quite  large  enough  to  pre- 
vent him  roaring  at  his  men,  in  a  voice 
which  shook  the  rafters: 

" 'Tention!  Right  face!  Forward! 
March!" 

A  roistering,  childless  scalawag  was 
Corporal  O'Connell,  all  muscle  and  bone 
and  heart;  and  now,  as  his  sullen  men 
.pguwent  tramping  out,  obedient  to  com- 
mand, he  added,  in  a  growling,  non-offi- 
cial undertone: 

"  An'  ye'll  hold  yer  tongues,  ye  brawl- 
[76] 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 


I 


in'    ijjits,    or    I'll   be   after   kickin'    the 
breeches  off  ye !  " 

They  mounted  and  rode  a  rod  or  two 
away,  awaiting  orders ;  while  Lieutenant- 
Colonel  Morrison  stood  silently  and 
watched  them  go.  He,  too — like  Virgie 
— had  wrestled  with  a  problem,  and  it 
stirred  him  to  the  depths.  As  a  trooper 
must  obey,  so  also  must  an  officer  obey 
a  higher  will ;  yes,  even  as  a  slave  in  iron 
manacles.  The  master  of  war  had  made 
his  laws;  and  a  servant  broke  them, 
knowingly.  A  captured  scout  was  a  pris- 
oner, no  more;  a  spy  must  hang,  or  fall 
before  the  volley  of  a  firing  squad.  No 
matter  for  his  bravery;  no  matter  for  the 
faithful  service  to  his  cause,  the  man  must 
die!  The  glory  was  for  another;  for  one 
who  waved  a  flag  on  the  spine  of  a  bloody 
trench;  a  trench  which  his  brothers^ 
stormed — and  gave  the  blood.  No  mat- (: 
ter  that  a  spy  had  made  this  triumph 
[77] 


q 


l 


i 


J« 


143sftk 


possible.  He  had  worn  a  uniform  which 
was  not  his  own — and  the  dog  must  die! 

So  ruled  the  god  of  warfare ;  still,  did 
war  prescribe  disgrace  and  death  for  all? 
If  Cary  had  crept  through  the  Union 
lines,  to  reach  the  side  of  a  helpless  lit- 
tle one — yes,  even  in  a  coat  of  blue — 
would  the  Great  Tribunal  count  his  deed 
accursed?  Should  fearless  human  love 
reap  no  reward  beyond  the  crashing  epi- 
taph of  a  firing  squad,  and  the  powder 
smoke  that  drifted  with  the  passing  of  a 
soul? 

"  No !  No !  "  breathed  Morrison.  "  In 
God's  name,  give  the  man  his  chance !" 

He  straightened  his  back  and  smiled. 
He  took  from  the  table  a  rumpled  paper 
and  turned  to  the  littlest  factor  in  the 

eat  Eebellion. 

"Here,  Virgie!  Here's  your  pass  to 
Eichmond — for  you  and  your  escort — 
through  the  Federal  lines." 


I 


I 


J 
I. 


THE  LITTLEST  REBEL 

She  came  to  him  slowly,  wondering; 
her  tiny  body  quivering  with  suppressed 
excitement,  her  voice  a  whispering 
caress : 

"  Do  you  mean  for — for  Daddy,  too?  " 

"  Yes,  you  little  rebel !  "  he  answered, 
choking  as  he  laughed ;  "  but  I'm  terri- 
bly afraid  you'll  have  to  pay  me — with 
a  kiss." 

She  sprang  into  his  waiting  arms,  and 
kissed  him  as  he  raised  her  up;  but 
when  he  would  have  set  her  down,  her 
little  brown  hands,  with  their  berry- 
stained  fingers,  clung  tightly  about  his 
neck. 

"Wait!  Wait!"  she  cried.  "Here's 
another  one — for  Gertrude !  Tell  her  it's 
from  Virgie !  An'  tell  her  I  sent  it,  'cause 
her  Daddy  is  jus'  the  best  damn  Yankee 
•that  ever  was !  " 

The  trap  above  had  opened,  and  the 
head  and  shoulders  of  the  Southerner  ap- 
[79] 


A 


J 


I 


peared;  while  Morrison  looked  up  and 
spoke  in  parting: 

"  It's  all  right,  Cary.  I  only  ask  a 
soldier's  pledge  that  you  take  your  little 
girl  to  Richmond — nothing  more.  In 
passing  through  our  lines,  whatever  you 
see  or  hear — forget!" 

A  sacred  trust  it  was,  of  man  to  man, 
one  brother  to  another;  and  Morrison 
knew  that  Herbert  Cary  would  pass 
through  the  very  center  of  the  Federal 
lines,  as  a  father,  not  a  spy. 

The  Southerner  tried  to  speak  his 
gratitude,  but  the  words  refused  to  come ; 
so  he  stretched  one  trembling  hand  to- 
ward his  enemy  of  war,  and  eased  his 
heart  in  a  sobbing,  broken  call: 

"Morrison!  Some  day  it  will  all — 
~be  over!" 


In  the  cabin's  doorway  stood  Virgie 
and   her   father,   hand   in   hand.     They 

[80] 


i 


. 


watched  a  lonely  swallow  as  it  dipped 
across  the  desolate,  unfurrowed  field. 
They  listened  to  the  distant  beat  of  many 
hoofs  on  the  river  road,  and  the  far,  faint 
clink  of  sabers  on  the  riders'  thighs;  and 
when  the  sounds  were  lost  to  the  listen- 
ers at  last,  the  notes  of  a  bugle  came 
whispering  back  to  them,  floating,  dip- 
ping, even  as  the  swallow  dipped  across 
the  unfurrowed  fields. 

But  still  the  two  stood  lingering  in  the 
doorway,  hand  in  hand.  The  muddy 
James  took  up  his  murmuring  song 
again;  the  locusts  chanted  in  the 
hot  brown  woods,  to  the  basso  growl 
of  the  big  black  guns  far  down  the 
river. 

A  sad,  sad  song  it  was;  yet  on  its 
echoes  seemed  to  ride  a  haunting,  hope- 
ful memory  of  the  rebel's  broken  call, 
"  Some  day  it  will  all  be  over ! " 

And  so  the  guns  growled  on,  slow,  sul 
[81] 


i 


len,  thundering  forth  the  battle-call  of  a 
still  unconquered  enmity;  but  only  that 
peace  might  walk  "  some  day "  in  the 
path  of  the  shrieking  shells. 


I 


fr 


1 


PEACE 


Hushed  is  the  rolling"  drum.     The  bugle's  note 

Breathes  but  an  echo  of  its  martial  blast; 
The   proud   old   flags,   in  mourning   silence,   float 

Above   the  heroes   of   a  buried   past. 
Frail   ivy   vines    'round   rusting-   cannon    creep; 

The  tattered  pennants  droop  against  the  wall; 
The  war-worn  warriors  are  sunk  in  sleep, 

Beyond  a  summons  of  the  trumpet's  call. 

Do  ye  still  dream,  ye  voiceless,  slumbering-  ones, 

Of  g-lories  gained  through  struggles  fierce  and 
long, 
Lulled  by  the  muffled  boom  of  ghostly  guns 

That  weave  the  music  of  a  battle-song? 
In  fitful  flight  do  misty  visions  reel, 

While  restless  chargers  toss  their  bridle-reins? 
When  down   the   lines  gleam   points   of   polished 
steel, 

And  phantom  columns  flood  the  sun-lit  plains? 


i< 


A  breathless  hush!     A  shout  that  mounts  on  high 
Till  every  hoary  hill  from  sleep  awakes! 
r  Swift  as  the  unleashed  lightning  cleaves  the  sky, 
The  tumbling,   tempest-rush   of  battle  breaks! 

[83] 


4 


,-. 


The   smoke-wreathed   cannon   launch   their   hell- 
winged  shells! 
The  rattling  crash  of  musketry's  sharp  sound 
Sinks  in  the  deafening  din  of  hoarse,  wild  yells 
And    squadrons    charging    o'er    the    trampled 
ground! 

Down,  down  they  rush!     The  cursing  riders  reel 

'Neath  tearing  shot  and  savage  bayonet-thrust; 
A  plunging  charger  stamps  with  iron  heel 

His  dying  master  in  the  battle's  dust. 
The    shrill-tongued    notes   of    victory    awake! 

The  black  guns  thunder  back  the  shout  amain! 
In  crimson-crested  waves  the  columns  break, 

Like    shattered    foam,    across    the    shell-swept 
plain. 


A  still  form  lies  upon  the  death-crowned  hill, 
With   sightless   eyes,   gray   lips   that   may   not 
speak. 
His  dead  hand  holds  his  shot-torn  banner  still — 
Its  proud  folds  pressed  against  his  bloodstained 
cheek. 

O,  slumbering  heroes,  cease  to  dream  of  war! 

Let  hatreds  die  behind  the  tread  of  years. 
Forget  the  past,   like   some  long-vanished  scar 

Whose  smart  is  healed  in  drops  of  falling  tears. 

[84] 


I 


Keep,  keep  your  glory;  but  forget  the  strife! 

Roll  up  your  battle-flags  so  stained  and  torn! 
Teach,  teach  our  hearts,  that  still  dream  on  in 
life, 

To  let  the  dead  past  sleep  with  those  we  mourn ! 

From  pitying  Heaven  a  pitying  angel  came. 

Smiling,  she  bade  the  tongues  of  conflict  cease. 
Her  wide  wings  fanned  away  the  smoke  and  flame, 

Hushed  the  red  battle's  roar.    God  called  her 
Peace. 
From  land  and  sea  she  swept  mad  passion's  glow; 

Yet  left  a  laurel  for  the  hero's  fame. 
She  whispered  hope  to  hearts  in  grief  bowed  low, 

And  taught  our  lips,  in  love,  to  shape  her  name. 


She  sheathed  the  dripping  sword;  her  soft  hands 
pres't 

Grim  foes  apart,  who  scowled  in  anger  deep. 
She  laid  two  grand  old  standards  down  to  rest, 

And  on  her  breast  rocked  weary  War  to  sleep. 
Peace   spreads   her   pinions  wide  from   South   to 
North; 

Dead  enmity  within  the  grave  is  laid. 
The  church  towers  ring  their  holy  anthems  forth, 

To  hush  the  thunders  of  the  cannonade. 


